In Which Enjolras is Kidnapped
by 16-horses
Summary: What would happen if the chief of the Friends of the ABC was to be kidnapped? Consequences include multiple shootings, burning buildings, and a wedding. AU. Rated for mildly violent action scenes and some kissing. Enjoy!
1. In Which Combeferre Becomes the Chief

**In Which Combeferre Becomes the Chief**

Marius glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. "We've been waiting for forty-five minutes, and he still isn't here."

The other Friends of the ABC sprawled around the room, bored. Feuilly shifted position in his chair. "It's not like Enjolras to be late."

"Maybe he's sick," Joly suggested.

Laigle halfheartedly shoved him. "He's never been sick a day in his life. Maybe he's just got something else to do at home."

"An army wouldn't keep him from coming to the meeting. It has to be something else," Feuilly said.

"And where's Combeferre?" asked Courfeyrac. "It's not like him to be late, either."

As though summoned by Courfeyrac's words, Combeferre crashed into the room, his face gray. He clawed for breath, hands on his knees, then straightened and composed himself.

"Where have you been, Combeferre? And where's Enjolras?" Courfeyrac demanded.

"Enjolras – is missing," Combeferre gasped.

"We know he's missing. That's why I'm asking you where he is."

"No," and Combeferre caught his breath at last. "I mean he's really missing. I wanted to walk to the meeting with him, but when I arrived at his house I was told he wasn't home."

"Maybe he forgot it was a weekend and went to class," Laigle said.

Bahorel slapped him on the arm. "He would never do that. He's not as stupid as you."

Laigle sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "One time. I go to class on a Saturday one time, and you still won't let me forget it."

"Listen!"Combeferre yelled. "I was a little worried, so I went to the police station to see if they knew anything, and his parents were there. Apparently he disappeared last night and has been missing all day."

All the air went out of the room. Grantaire choked on a mouthful of wine, and his coughs split the silence.

"He disappeared?" Courfeyrac said. "You mean he's – you know…"

"Dead?" Prouvaire whimpered.

"Lost?" Joly clutched his chest.

"Ran away?" said Bahorel dryly. "I don't blame him."

"Kidnapped," said Combeferre. "His parents showed the police a note they found. It said, 'If you ever want to see your son again, bring 500,000 francs to No. 55 Rue Plumet within the week'."

All the color zapped out of Marius's face, and then some. "But – but that's where –"

"Where what?" Courfeyrac snapped.

Marius ran a finger along the inside of his collar. "Er, uh, it's not – that can't be right."

Combeferre's face hardened. "That's what the note said. Who cares what you think about it? The point is, Enjolras is in danger."

Shouts filled the room.

"Let's rescue him!"

"Can't we just leave him for a little bit?"

"His parents are rich enough."

"Who would be crazy enough to kidnap him?"

"EVERYBODY QUIET!" Combeferre shrieked. Instantly silence fell. Shocked faces stared at him. Combeferre never shrieked.

"Now," said Combeferre, glaring at them all, "all this yelling isn't going to help matters. We need a plan of action."

Joly raised his hand. Combeferre hesitated, then said, "Yes?"

"Why don't we just let his parents pay the ransom? That would be safer for everyone."

"Why not!?" Bahorel jumped up, knocking over his chair, and leaped onto a table. "I'll tell you why not! Enjolras is our chief! It is our duty to rescue him, even if he is a little crazy!"

"Look who's talking!" Grantaire taunted.

"Oh, shut up! We're loyal to Enjolras. We won't leave him in the hands of his captors! What if they torture him!? Or what if they kill him once they have the ransom!? And even if he is released, it would kill him to have been saved by money!" Bahorel said this last word with all the loathing only a Friend of the ABC could muster. "Will we let our chief come to an untimely end or suffer a disgraceful fate!? I don't know about you twerps, but I'm not letting that happen!"

Bahorel stood, his eyes alight, raising his fist in a heroic manner. He seemed ten feet tall as all eyes turned to him. Marius swore he could hear drums in the distance.

"Oh, Bahorel," Prouvaire sobbed, wiping his eyes with his hair. "I'll fight with you. I'll die with you!" Tears drenched his jacket.

"That won't be necessary," said Feuilly as he steered Prouvaire away from the table. Bahorel climbed down, grabbed Grantaire's wine bottle, and drained it to the dregs. He looked at Combeferre with a mild, expectant smile. Grantaire glowered.

"Er, thanks, Bahorel," Combeferre said. "Now, we need to establish a few things. Such as: is No. 55 Rue Plumet where they are actually holding Enjolras captive, or is that just the pick-up point for the ransom?"

"They're not holding him there," Marius said. Everyone looked at him. "How do you know?" Courfeyrac demanded.

"I just know." Marius felt himself blushing. "Trust me."

"Last time I trusted you I was stuck under a bridge for two days."

Combeferre stared at Courfeyrac. "How did that happen?"

Courfeyrac waved his hand. "Long story."

Combeferre held his head in his hands. "Please, can we have no more interruptions? Now, as I was saying, we need a plan."

"Oh! Oh! I have a plan!" Prouvaire's arm almost jerked him out of his chair as he waved it around. "It's the perfect plan!"

"Isn't it always?" Joly muttered.

"Does it involve shooting?" Bahorel asked.

"And bribing?" asked Courfeyrac.

"Is it reckless?" asked Laigle.

"It's amazing," said Prouvaire modestly.

"Then say it already," said Combeferre. He placed his hands on his hips and surveyed them all. "The rest of you shut up. Yes, you too, Courfeyrac. Let's not make this more of a mission impossible than we can help."


	2. In Which Cosette Learns to Fire a Gun

**In Which Cosette Learns to Fire a Gun**

"So, how do you know Rue Plumet so well?" Courfeyrac asked.

Marius scowled. The two walked down the street, seeming nonchalant, but with their hands on guns in their pockets. "It's – look, don't tell anyone, all right?"

"As you wish."

Marius took a deep breath. "You know, er, Ursule?"

"That girl you've been obsessing over for months?"

"Um, well, she lives at No. 55 Rue Plumet."

Courfeyrac stopped dead in his tracks. "You can't be serious. Enjolras's captors will be waiting for us at your girlfriend's house?"

"She's not exactly my – oh, whatever. I guess so."

"Maybe she's in on the plot."

Righteous anger surged through Marius. He rounded on Courfeyrac, who stood half a head taller than him, and seethed, "Ursule is the sweetest, kindest, most angelic girl on the planet. To suggest that she could be involved in a kidnapping is like suggesting that Laigle will inherit a fortune. You got that, smarty-pants?"

"Gosh, chill out," Courfeyrac said, pushing Marius away from him. "I didn't mean it that way."

"How else would you mean it," Marius growled. Then he stopped. "We're here."

A large old house stood, half-hidden by its abundant garden. Evening shadows fell across the boys as they walked up to the tall iron fence.

"This place is creepy," Courfeyrac said. "I wish we didn't have to come at night."

"That's when all the criminals are out." Marius looked around. No one. "Surely they can't be inside?"

"Marius!" A very pretty girl flew through the garden and came to the fence. Her blue eyes trembled with joy. "Marius! You came!"

"Yes, I did." Marius looked up, climbed over the fence, and dropped down into the garden. "It's good to see you."

"Hey, what about me?" Courfeyrac complained, struggling to follow Marius.

The girl blinked. "Who's that?"

"That is Courfeyrac, my best friend. Courfeyrac, this is Cosette."

Now Courfeyrac blinked. "Cosette? But I thought her name was…"

"Ursule?" Cosette smiled. "It's really Cosette. I see Marius hasn't kept you posted."

Marius looked offended. "Why should I? He's not your boyfriend."

Courfeyrac looked a little sulky, but said, "Say, Cosette, do you happen to be involved in criminal activities of any sort?"

Cosette wrinkled her nose. "I don't think I like you."

"Oh, come –" Courfeyrac froze mid-sentence. His hair almost bristled. "Hide!" he hissed, and dove into a hydrangea bush. Marius and Cosette ducked into a small arbor and waited, tense, listening. Marius peered through the leaves, and his heart almost stopped.

Almost inaudible footsteps sounded on the cobblestones. A tall, slender figure wove its shadow on the fence, seeming to shy away from the light of a streetlamp. Cosette squeaked in fright, and Marius placed his hand over her mouth. Dark hair materialized, then a young face, beautiful, yet terrible. The figure, a boy of eighteen years or so, paced in front of the house in a bored sort of way, kicking his heels against the ground, eyes turned upward. "Those idiots, going to send me out every stinkin' night till the stupid ransom comes," Marius heard him mutter.

"He's here to collect the ransom," Marius breathed, peering out of the arbor.

"Collect the what?" Cosette asked.

"Never mind."

"Wait. Who is he? Is he tall and skinny? Black hair? Green eyes? Small hands? A scar on his –"

"Uh, yes, well, wait, I can't see all that from – how do you know all that?"

Cosette sprang out of the arbor with an expectant smile. "Hi, Montparnasse!" she said in a very loud whisper. The young man turned his head, and his eyes lit up. "Oh. Hi, Cosette." He turned and walked to the fence where Cosette stood.

"Wait!" Marius exploded out of the arbor. "What's going on here!?"

A strangled yelp came from the hydrangea bush.

The young man, Montparnasse, reeled at the sight of Marius, though Marius didn't know why the boy found his appearance so repulsive. He latched onto Cosette's arms and attempted to draw her away from the fence. "Cosette, who is this guy? Why are you flirting with him?"

"I'm not flirting! He's just a friend," Cosette defended herself.

Marius hoped he imagined the disappointed look on Montparnasse's face. "Well, how long have you been "just friends"?"

"A few months," Montparnasse muttered.

"This is the first time I've seen him in weeks," Cosette said.

Marius glowered at her. "Does he always visit you at night when I'm gone?"

"Well, yes, but…"

Marius turned to face Montparnasse. He reached out through the bars of the fence and shoved him backward. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious? I came to visit with Cosette."

"No respectable gentleman goes visiting girls in the dead of night!"

Montparnasse put his hands on his hips and gave Marius a withering look. Marius sighed. "All right, I guess I'm not respectable, either. But you're here for something else, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh yes you do!" Marius grabbed Montparnasse by the collar and smacked him against the bars. "Where is Enjolras!?" he roared.

"I'm not telling you."

"Ha! You admit he's your captive! Where is he!? Who are you working with!?"

Cosette came next to him. "Marius, what are you talking about?"

A rustling sounded, then Courfeyrac burst out of the hydrangea bush and bounded to the fence, leaves in his hair. "How can you be so slow, Marius? He's a member of the Patron-Minette! You ran into them before!"

"Patron-Minette!?" Marius released Montparnasse and staggered backward. "Not the Patron-Minette! The worst underground criminal gang in France! The scourge of sunlit Paris!"

"Well, I've never heard it described quite like that before," Montparnasse started, but Marius cut him off. He yanked his gun out of his pocket and pointed it at him. "Tell me everything! I want it all!"

"All of what?"

"The story! How'd you know Enjolras was rich?"

"He certainly doesn't look it," Courfeyrac said.

"Shh! Now spill the beans, or I'll spill them for you."

"Cosette?" came a deep voice from across the garden. "Are you still out there? What are you doing?"

"It's my father!" Cosette hissed. Marius paled. "But – but – I'm so close…"

Montparnasse laughed. "Next time, kid." He turned and ran.

"I'm older than you!" Marius shrieked, forgetting Cosette's terrifying father for a moment. He scrambled over the fence and fired.

The bullet knocked out the glass of a streetlamp. Courfeyrac followed Marius out of the garden as a large, gray-haired man ran up. "Cosette! What is happening? Who is firing?"

Cosette, ignoring him completely, ran toward the gate, shrieking, "Unlock the gate!" She started to climb over it as her father barreled toward her. "Cosette! What –" he stopped when he saw Marius and Courfeyrac flash by. "Why does that boy look familiar?"

Cosette swung onto the cobblestones, stumbled, rubbed her knees, and started after the others, holding her skirts up. Ultime, her father, didn't wait for a key either. He climbed over with a lot less trouble, and the chase really began.

"You're such an idiot, Marius!" Courfeyrac yelled as he ran after Marius.

Marius didn't answer. He cocked his gun and raised it. Montparnasse looked over his shoulder and drew his own gun.

"Look out!" Courfeyrac flung himself over Marius as the gun fired. At first Marius thought his foot exploded, but when he looked he found himself uninjured, but his shoe had been completely blown off. "That's some aim."

"You can't run barefoot – yikes!" Courfeyrac flattened himself on the street as a bullet whizzed over his head. "I'm dead. Oh, yes, I'm dead."

"Nooo!"Cosette caught up with them and tripped over Marius. "Oof!" She looked up to see Montparnasse turning once more to fire. She gasped, but Marius just sat there in a state of shock. Cosette grabbed his gun, examined it for a moment, raised it, prayed, and squeezed the trigger.

"Aaargh!" Montparnasse dropped his gun and crumpled to the street. Ultime came dashing up and surveyed the scene. "When did you learn to fire a gun, Cosette?"

"About five seconds ago." Cosette dropped Marius's gun and hugged him. Ultime glanced down and kicked Courfeyrac, who was still lying on his face and saying, "I'm dead. I'm so dead."

"No, you're not." Ultime decided questions could wait. He walked over to Montparnasse. The young man, clutching his leg, shrieked, "Go away!" when he saw Ultime, but the old man simply picked up his fallen gun. "I'll take you to the hospital." He went back to the others and said, "Cosette, go to bed."

She stood and left without a word. Ultime then looked at Marius and Courfeyrac. "Explanations will come later. Are you hurt?"

"Only my pride," Courfeyrac muttered.


	3. In Which Joly Commits Arson

**A/N: I'm sure they didn't have semiautomatic pistols in the nineteenth century, but I don't really care.**

* * *

 **In Which Joly Commits Arson**

"Those idiots," Joly seethed. "They nearly gave the game away. If they hadn't let themselves be seen, we wouldn't have to take their place."

"I'm glad," Bahorel answered. "This way I get to see some action."

The two crouched in the shadow of the Gorbeau Tenement, with a mournful moon overhead. A lovesick tomcat wailed as an eerie wind ruffled the clouds.

Joly shivered. "I'm going to catch a cold from all this."

"Sure." Bahorel stood up. "There's firelight in that second-story window. I bet that's where they are."

"I still think that Montparnasse guy was lying. He could have just been trying to save his own skin."

"He'd already been shot. What more did he have to lose?" Bahorel started giggling crazily, and Joly's voice cracked as he hissed, "Shut up! They'll hear you!"

"Who knew Marius could be so reckless?" Bahorel hiccuped. He inspected a short-branched, fruitless apple tree that hugged the side of the building. He began to climb, sending leaves and clumps of dirt falling onto Joly's head. "Dooon't you do that, Bahorel," Joly said, wringing his hands. "You'll kill yourself!"

"I'm not going to fall."

"There's spiders up there."

"Oh, phooey. Spiders are noth-eek!" Bahorel managed to keep from screaming as a small wood spider, no larger than his fingernail, dangled in front of his face.

Joly threw his shirt over his face. "I knew it. You're a goner. You've probably been bitten by a recluse spider."

"Recluse spiders don't live in France," Bahorel whispered, blowing the little wood spider away. "Now be quiet!" He fought his way up through the tree, inching his way along a branch, till he planted his hands on the sill of the lit window. Keeping to the shadows as best he could, he peered in.

"What do you see?" Joly said.

"There's four men in there, and boooy, are they ugly."

"Can you see Enjolras? Aah!" Joly yelped as Bahorel's foot slipped. Bahorel grabbed a branch and saved himself, then glared daggers at Joly. "On more sound out of you and I'll kick your little head clear to the Mediterranean. Now shut it!" He looked back through the window. "There's also a woman in there – she doesn't look much better than the men. I can't see if there's – ah!"

Joly almost fainted, but Bahorel looked down at him and said, "It's Enjolras! He's tied up, but he looks unhurt."

"Great. Just great." Joly clasped his arms about his body. "Let's get back to the others and tell them. Bahorel? What are you doing?"

Bahorel sniggered to himself as he climbed out of the tree. "They won't know what hit them."

"Bahorel, we're supposed to report back to the others. I don't know what you're –"

"Shh!" Bahorel crept around to the front door. A teenaged girl with auburn hair and dirt smudged all over her face and dress leaned against the wall next to the door. She and Bahorel both stared at each other, neither expecting to see the other, till the girl finally gasped and ran inside. Bahorel pounded after her with Joly, quite out of his mind with panic at that point, at his heels. Bahorel lunged at the girl and threw his arms around her. She opened her mouth to scream, and Joly flew to her, saying as fast as he could, "Please don't scream, please don't scream!"

At the sight of the imploring, attractive young man, the girl quieted a little. She grimaced and said, "Tell this thug to let me go or I really will scream!"

"Well, don't go anywhere," Bahorel said, and released her. She stumbled a little, then faced them and said, "What do you want? Are you with the police?"

"Police? Nah." Bahorel folded his arms across his chest. "Do you live here?"

"Er, yes." She pointed with a nervous finger at a door on the second floor.

Bahorel's eyes narrowed. He calculated that the door and the window belonged to the same room. Turning back to the girl, he started to say something, but froze when a muffled voice came from the door up the stairs. "'Eard some strange noises down there. I'll go an' see what it is."

Bahorel twitched. Then he crouched down a little, grasped the girl's shoulders, and thrust his lips against hers. Joly gagged.

The door swung open, and a skinny little runt of a man stalked out. Seeing Bahorel and the girl lip-locked, he snarled, "What're you doin', Azelma!? You're supposed to be watchin' for the police!"

Azelma drooped in Bahorel's grip. She let him keep kissing her so as to avoid answering. Joly flickered.

"Tell your boyfriend to 'ightail it outta 'ere, or 'e's gonna 'ave a few lumps to remember." The man, seeming to miss Joly altogether, shook a fist at them and stalked back into the room, slamming the door after him.

Bahorel peeled himself off of Azelma, who looked a little dazed. "I hope neither of you has a contagious disease," Joly said, looking at Bahorel. "Remember the spiders."

"Cut it." Bahorel looked up at the door. "Was that your father?"

She nodded.

"Could you step outside and stay there?"

"Why?" She looked suspicious.

He drew a coin from his pocket. Her eyes grew huge. "Of course!" She snatched the coin and ran out.

Bahorel gazed after her. "I never considered having a girlfriend before. I'm going to have to give it more thought."

"Can we just go back now?" asked Joly miserably.

"What? With the girl out of the way and Enjolras only a staircase away?" Bahorel sprang silently up the steps. "You have your gun, right?"

"Wait! This isn't part of the plan!" Joly lurched after him.

"That little milksop Prouvaire doesn't have any appreciation for derring-do and bloody battles. His original plan is no fun at all." Bahorel drew his gun from his pocket, placed his hand on the doorknob, and threw the door open. He fired as fast as the gun would allow him to, and though he shot out every pane of glass in the window, crippled every chair, and put more holes in the ceiling than a sieve, he failed to wound a single man. Enjolras, sitting in a corner with his arms and legs bound, yelped, "Bahorel!?" The other five occupants jumped as bullets exploded over their heads.

"STOP!" Joly catapulted toward the door, set on saving Bahorel's life. Bahorel stepped aside, and Joly hit the floor and somersaulted in.

"'Oo's this fine fellow?" said one of the men, recovering from his initial shock.

Bahorel, thinking the man spoke to him, twirled his gun and said, "The name's Bahorel, defender of virtue, champion of liberty, keeper of –"

Enjolras sighed and leaned his head against the wall. "Be quiet, Bahorel."

"Ah," said another of the men, sharper than the others. "Friends of yours?"

"Yep. And we're here to rescue him." Bahorel cocked his discharged gun and covered them all with it. "Who's next?"

Thénardier, Azelma's runty father, picked up a poker, his favorite weapon, from the fireplace. "You ain't shootin' nobody," he snarled with a stupid grin. "Your gun's blown an' you're outnumbered three to one."

"You counted the prisoner," said the second man.

"Well, whatever! You're still outnumbered."

"And out-armed, if you ask me," said Joly, eyeing the poker.

"Then let's 'ave at it!" Thénardier leaped toward Bahorel, who with no effort whatsoever stepped aside again and smacked him on the back of the head as he tumbled past. Madame Thénardier screamed, and the other men charged Bahorel. Joly sat forgotten on the floor.

"Untie me, you idiot!" Enjolras hissed. Joly started and crawled toward him. "I can't! The knots are too tight!"

"Then use a knife!"

Joly searched his pockets. His face went dead-white. "I forgot my knife!"

"How could you forget your knife, you – you –" Enjolras, gone for a day without food and cramped in a corner, couldn't find the strength to curse further.

"'Ey! 'E's tryin' to loose the prisoner!" one of Bahorel's combatants yelled.

Joly's heart jumped into his mouth. He lunged away from Enjolras, and as the man advanced, he scrambled backward, forgetting his gun and forgetting the fire.

Joly's shirt burst into flames, and he shrieked loud enough to bring the building down around their ears. He exploded into Bahorel's battle, waving his arms as though hoping to fly. The fire spread down his legs – he didn't have the presence of mind to drop and roll – and flames leaped off his back and onto the wooden door and door frame and floor and staircase. The others, friend and foe, scattered from his fiery path.

Enjolras, surrounded by fire in his corner, assumed a noble expression, but one of the men grabbed him and joined the stampede out of the building. Bahorel threw himself out the window and slid down the tree. The whole house erupted into orange flames as people poured out of it. The Patron-Minette and the Thénardiers fled, with Enjolras, but Bahorel watched the inferno from a safe distance, the light framed against the dark sky. "Come on, Joly, where are you?"

One final screech cracked the air, and Joly hurled himself out the door, minus his shirt and his pants.

Bahorel averted his eyes. "Threw off your clothes before they burned you up, I see."

"Y-yes." Joly's eyes stuck out of his face, and he clasped his arms around his bare chest.

"Here." Bahorel took off his coat and draped it over Joly's bare shoulders. Joly clutched the coat about him. "I almost became burned toast."

Bahorel ruffled Joly's singed hair. "You saved the day, you little pyromaniac. Those goons almost had me."

"Let's leave heroic deeds to the others."

"No way."

Joly whimpered.


	4. In Which Prouvaire Turns Renegade

**In Which Prouvaire Turns Renegade**

Combeferre slammed his fist on the table in an unwonted display of anger. "So, once you learned where Enjolras was, instead of coming back to report, you tried to take on four dangerous men and ended up burning the house down." He buried his face in his arms. "What am I going to do with you?"

Bahorel chewed on the remains of a cigarette and said nothing.

Joly squinted at his singed bangs. "It'll be months before my hair grows properly again. I wouldn't doubt I've got lung disease from the smoke, either." With a sigh he picked up a piece of bread and cheese lying conveniently nearby and absentmindedly ate it.

Prouvaire stared at him. "You just ate my lunch!"

"Does anyone have a clue where they moved Enjolras?" Combeferre placed two fingers to his temples.

"I don't know. I was just waiting to see if Joly would burn up or not." Bahorel traced patterns on the tabletop with his finger.

The glass in one of the windows rattled. Combeferre looked up. "What was that?"

A small finger appeared and tapped the window again. Combeferre ran to it, fumbled for a moment, and threw it open. With a small squeak a girl jumped back. Combeferre stared. "Who are you?"

The girl looked a little sheepish. "Er, is this the Café Musain?"

"Yes, though you could have gone around to the front to see."

The girl, thin and dirty, blushed. "Uh, can I speak – is Monsieur Marius 'ere?"

Marius, hearing his name spoken, rushed to the window, knocking over several chairs. "Éponine! What are you doing here!?"

Her face brightened. "You 'appy to see me?"

"Uhh…"

When Marius failed to say something intelligent, Éponine sighed. "I 'ave information for you. Well, a map, actually." She reached into her pocket and withdrew a dirty sheet of paper. She handed it to Marius, who took it and spent a few moments peering at it and turning it this way and that. "And where does this map lead to?"

"Don't you see the black X? That's where Enjolras is!"

Marius almost fell out the window. "You know about all that!?"

Éponine momentarily forgot her love for Marius. "Thénardier's my father, you idiot. But I like you. I want to 'elp you."

"Oh. Well, uh, thanks."

Éponine smiled, then turned and ran away.

"Well." Combeferre plucked the map from Marius's fingers. "Not very clear, but it looks like he's in an alley on an unnamed street." He looked up. "It's time for stage three. It would have been stage two if not for certain mishaps, but that doesn't matter. Prouvaire, Grantaire, your turn."

Bahorel jumped to his feet, a horrified and incredulous look on his face. His knees struck the table, and Laigle's full cup tipped over and drenched him. "Oh, great," Laigle muttered, wiping himself off.

Bahorel didn't notice. "You're sending those two!? Pansy Prouvarie and the bottlenose!?"

"Bottlenose!" Courfeyrac whooped and elbowed the blushing and lunchless Prouvaire. "That's a good one."

Combeferre sucked in his breath. "In case you haven't noticed, Prouvaire's more audacious than you think. And Grantaire hasn't hit the sauce for days now. He cares just as much about Enjolras as the rest of you."

"Maybe more!" Grantaire yelled. Prouvaire stood. "We've got our guns and our map. I think we can go now."

"And try not to get distracted by girls or burn any buildings down," Combeferre said.

Prouvaire blushed again.

* * *

"That's the ally," Grantaire whispered, his curly black head just visible above the roof.

"What?" Prouvaire whispered back, craning his neck back to look up.

Grantaire rolled his eyes and crawled to the edge of the roof. He attempted to climb down a drainpipe running down to the ground, lost his balance, and almost plummeted to the street before he managed to grab the edge of the roof and dangle there like overripe fruit.

Prouvaire peeked at him through his fingers. "Are you still alive?"

"Why did I ever join this stupid revolution?" Grantaire heaved himself back onto the roof and climbed down, more carefully this time. "It's all for you, Enjolras."

"Please quiet down!" Prouvaire begged him. "We need just the right distraction, and if you alert them too early –"

His head nearly came off as a huge hand lifted him by his long, light brown hair. "Ow! Ow!" He gripped his scalp and kicked, but his captor, the biggest member of the Patron-Minette, grabbed the stupefied Grantaire by the back of his collar and dragged them both into the alley.

"Two little boys were playin' too close fer their own good," their captor guffawed.

"Tha' makes four in two days," Thénardier said. "An' we ain't seen 'ide nor 'air of Montparnasse in all tha' time."

"He broke his leg, Grantaire said, oblivious to the frantic signals Prouvaire kept sending his way.

"Broke 'is leg!?" Thénardier clutched his forehead. "'Ow do you know tha'?"

"Uhh…"

Before Grantaire could start drooling, his collar ripped off completely under his weight and he hit the dirt. "Oof!"

"Well, no matter." Thénardier made a flippant gesture. His hand smacked the alley wall, and he grimaced. "Maybe we can ransom 'em off also."

Prouvaire's mind, much nimbler than Grantaire's, launched into overdrive. The other two members of the Patron-Minette bound Grantaire and deposited him next to Enjolras, who looked to the sky as though pleading with God. "It could have been any one of the others, but no, I have to be stuck with Grantaire."

Prouvaire's handler thrust him down on the ground, but as the others started to bind him, he yelled, "Wait!"

"Wait what?" Thénardier growled.

Prouvaire wriggled into a sitting position and mustered his hidden courage. "You don't have to take me captive. I'll stay here willingly."

"Like a prisoner of honor?" one of the men said.

"Yes. Wait, no! No, I mean I'll work with you. I do what you say, and once the ransom comes you give me a share of the money."

The kidnappers all looked at each other. "Oh?"

"Yes! Like… I can stand guard. I noticed you didn't have anyone watching for trouble."

Thénardier flung his hat to the ground. "Gosh darn it! Éponine's run off somewheres!"

"Exactly." Prouvaire fought to keep his voice from squeaking. "I thought that after that fiasco at Gorbeau House you might need some help."

The eyes of the big man widened. "Stripe me, 'ow does 'e know that too?"

Prouvaire smiled wickedly. "I know everything."

Thénardier screwed up his face, looking even more like a rat. At last he said, "All right, you little pipsqueak. You'll get your share." He gestured to the others. "Well, untie 'im!"

As they released Prouvarie, a screech of agony came from the back of the alley. Enjolras's eyes burned with blue fire. "Jean Prouvaire!" he shrieked. "How could you do this!? How can you betray us like this!? I thought you liked flowers and poetry! You – you're not worthy of the cause!"

Prouvaire shrugged. "Sorry." Looking at his new fellow-conspirators, he said, "I'll go and watch for the police." He swung out of the alley, Enjolras's screams of despair ringing in the air.

As soon as he stepped out onto the deserted street, Prouvaire collapsed against a wall. He whispered to himself, speaking in rhyme as he often did when upset. "I don't know what I did, I'm only just a kid, this isn't why I came, now I'm in a gang!"

Éponine came sidling up. "Oh. Hi, Prouvaire."

"Hi." Prouvaire glanced into the alley. "It appears I've joined your father's gang."

"Oh?" She sounded only mildly surprised.

"Want to stand guard with me?"

"Sure."


	5. In Which Laigle's Hat is Put to Good Use

**In Which Laigle's Hat is Put to Good Use**

"There's Prouvaire," Feuilly whispered. He pointed across the street at the young man lounging against a stone wall.

"That's where the map says Enjolras is." Combeferre referenced the paper again. "But isn't that that girl who gave the map to us with him?" He took a step forward and stubbed his toe on an uneven cobblestone. "I'm worse than Laigle."

"I wish we didn't have to leave him behind," said Feuilly. "But the way his luck goes, it was for his own good."

Combeferre ran lightly across the street and tapped Prouvaire on the shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Watching for the police. I was wondering when you were going to come."

"What are you talking about? Why are you hanging with this girl? What about the distraction?"

"How should I know? I'm just a little schoolboy."

"Prouvaire!" Combeferre clamped down on Prouvaire's shoulders and shook him till his teeth rattled. "Why are you acting like this? None of this was part of the plan!"

"Lay off him," said Éponine and Feuilly at the same time. Éponine put a hand on Combeferre's arm. "'E's not really 'elpin' in Enjolras's capture. And like I told Marius back at the café, I want to 'elp."

"All right, but where's Grantaire?" Feuilly asked.

Prouvaire flushed. "Um, he also got captured. But it's under control. I know what to do."

"Then how are we supposed to rescue two of them?"

"Here's how." Prouvaire disappeared into the alley and soon returned with two coils of rope. He threw one to Éponine and started to tie Combeferre up. "What are –"

"Shh!" While Prouvarie worked, Éponine started on Feuilly. "This is the only way to get you in there to get Enjolras and Grantaire out."

"Except we're not going to be able to do much when we're in there," Combeferre snapped.

Prouvaire smiled. "We're making the ropes loose. You'll be able to slip out. When Éponine and I lure them out, free the others and run for it."

Feuilly sighed. "The alley's a cul-de-sac. The only way out is the way we came in. We'll be running straight into your battle."

Prouvaire cringed a little. "I forgot about that. But what else can we do?"

"Hmph." Combeferre scowled. "Why'd he have to let himself get kidnapped in the first place?"

"Do you know anybody who just let themselves be kidnapped?" Feuilly muttered, not liking the plan anymore than Combeferre did.

Prouvaire shrugged. "Now we're going to have to make it sound like were having a battle, or they'll get suspicious." He threw himself on top of Combeferre, kicking up dust and grunting and yelping.

Combeferre growled as Prouvaire flattened him into the dust, "Prouvaire, if I live through this, I swear I'm going to tie you up with your cute little sash and hang you by your hair from a –"

"You sound like Bahorel."

"Well, you're acting like him."

"I'm sorry," came Prouvaire's little voice as he strangled Combeferre.

"That's more like it."

At last Prouvaire and Éponine thrust their 'prisoners' into the alley. "More snoopers!" Éponine announced. "My, my, 'ow they keep comin'."

Thénardier, not noticing his daughter's sudden appearance, smirked. "Let 'em join the party. The more 'ostages we got, the more money we can make on their safe return."

"I'm going to kill Prouvaire," Enjolras hissed.

Combeferre, crammed between Enjolras and the damp wall, hissed back, "He's just pretending to be on their side. When he lures these hooligans outside, we're going to break free." He slipped his hands out of the ropes and tried to inconspicuously use his pocketknife on Enjolras's bonds.

"What about me?" Grantaire complained very loudly.

"Shh!" Feuilly kicked him in the ankle. "I'll take care of you, but be quiet!"

"Guess that little punk's good for something'," said one of the Patron-Minette, gazing after Prouvaire. "'E looks like 'e spends all 'is time writin' ditties."

"That's what he does," Enjolras muttered, still doubtful as to Prouvaire's loyalties.

All of a sudden two new voices sounded outside the alley, vaguely reminiscent of Prouvaire's and Éponine's.

"This is the place," Prouvaire said, his voice several octaves deeper than usual.

"I've seen them sneakin' around 'ere," Éponine bellowed back. "'Ow many do you think they're holdin'?"

"I'd say four. The police'll want to know about this."

Everyone in the alley froze. Then Thénardier frantically gestured to the alley entrance. "See wha' it is!" he hissed.

Two of the Patron-Minette started outside. Prouvaire peered at them from around the corner. "Which do you want?" he whispered to Éponine.

"I'll take the tall rattle-boned one. You take the shorter one."

Prouvaire nodded. The instant the two men stepped outside, the 'lookouts' jumped them. Prouvaire twisted his man's arms behind his back and pinned his legs down with his own. He tried not to think about the fact that his victim weighed at least sixty pounds more than him, and obviously used his arms for more than holding pens. Prouvaire looked up. Éponine fared all right, but she couldn't hold her man for long. "Come on!" she yelled.

No one emerged from the alley.

"What are they waiting for," Prouvaire spat, straining to keep the man down.

At Éponine's shout all four captives sprang free of their ropes Enjolras charged Thénardier and easily knocked him down, but the other man, the giant that caught Prouvaire and Grantaire earlier, caught Feuilly's arm as he ran past, and then Grantaire and Combeferre in quick succession. Enjolras leaped off of Thénardier, briefly planting his foot on his face, grabbed Feuilly's other am, and pulled. Feuilly screeched in pain and yelled, "Stop! Stop! You're going to rip my arms off!"

Thénardier struggled to his feet (with an Enjolras-shoeprint on his face) and latched his bony but surprisingly strong arms around Enjolras's waist and tried to haul him away from Feuilly. But Enjolras's fingers refused to unbend. They stood there, locked in a tug-o'-war, as Grantaire and Combeferre kicked uselessly, held by a single arm.

A battered top hat tumbled down into the alley. Thénardier stared. "Where the 'ell did tha' come from?" He let go of Enjolras to pick it up, and they all went tumbling down in a heap.

A man hurtled down from the top of the back wall, yelling crazily. He landed square on Thénardier's head and fell rolling to the ground.

"Laigle!?" Combeferre yelled.

Laigle launched himself at the big man, and in spite of his poor luck and his even poorer judgment, hit him right in the face. The man let go of all three of his captives in an instant, and Enjolras waved the others ahead of him before he dragged Laigle to his feet and all five of them bolted out of the alley.

"I lost my hat!" Laigle yelled as they ran down the twisting streets of Paris.

"I'll buy you a new one!" Combeferre yelled back.

They ran on until they dropped for breath in a plaza, collapsing around a fountain. "You saved us," Enjolras panted, giving Laigle a breathless smile.

"How did you get there in time?" Feuilly asked as he rubbed his arms.

Laigle blushed. "I followed you and Combeferre from the café. I wanted to help."

"We owe you one, funny bald guy," said Grantaire, and he threw his arms around Enjolras, who sighed. "Well, things are certainly back to normal."

"Hey!" Combeferre said suddenly. "Where's Prouvaire?"


	6. In Which Montparnasse Gets a Red Sash

**In Which Montparnasse Gets a Red Sash**

"So what we goin' to do wi' this snake in the grass?" asked the rattle-boned man.

Prouvaire, lying on his stomach in the alley, his hands tied behind his back, frowned. "Aren't I supposed to say that sometime?"

Éponine, standing up against the back wall, maintained her silence.

Thénardier jabbed at the air with an imaginary poker. He nudged Prouvaire with his toe. "You're goin' to pay for tha' trick you pulled."

"It wasn't a trick," Prouvaire gasped from his awkward position. "I told you, Éponine and I heard two men talking, but you came before we could warn you."

"Sure," scoffed the man Prouvaire attacked earlier. "That's why ye tried to wrench me arms off."

"It was those men who attacked you," Prouvaire pleaded, struggled to keep his terror out of his voice. "I'm sorry we couldn't help you. They were too strong for even us."

"For even you?" the man snorted. "Yer skinnier'n 'im," and he elbowed Thénardier. He meant to elbow him in the ribs, but Thénardier was so short he ended up digging him in the shoulder instead.

"Well, whatever!" Prouvaire thought he might cry. "I do want to help you. Really. I'm sorry I failed this time. I won't fail you again."

The rattle-boned man thought. "'E would be useful, wha' with Montparnasse out of the runnin'. It's not like 'Parnasse 'imself was much good at first. Allus takes 'em a bit to shape up."

"An' I can't get Éponine to 'elp out 'alf the time," said Thénardier, glaring at his daughter.

"I'll do whatever you want," said Prouvaire, now quite reckless in his desperation. Who knew? They might want to ransom him next.

"Oh, what the 'ell. 'E did get us two more captives, even if they did get away," said Prouvaire's one-time victim. "We do need a good lackey."

Prouvaire almost really did cry, this time from relief, but he controlled himself. When they untied him he stood, brushed off his clothes, and assumed a devilish expression. They gave him back his confiscated gun, and Éponine winked at him.

And so Prouvaire became the newest member of the Patron-Minette.

Unfortunately, he now found it impossible to slip away and rejoin the other revolutionaries. His fellow-criminals kept him busy standing guard, delivering messages, and the like, and that made him a criminal too. He could hardly sleep at night, terrified as he was for his life and honor. For the first few days he was so frightened and miserable he threw up everything he ate. In short, he lived in constant misery. Only Éponine understood.

Ah, Éponine. She knew the feeling, chained to a life of crime. She stayed closer to the dreaded gang those days - for his sake, he imagined. He hoped. In the days when Paris came to know the name of Prouvaire as they once knew the name of Montparnasse (who wasstill laid up in the hospital), Éponine brought the old Prouvaire out, and they examined flowers and made up poems together.

Éponine, in turn, found her own feelings for Prouvaire growing. His big blue eyes healed her every emotional wound; his shy smile made her forget all her bad memories. Marius… oh, she couldn't leave Prouvaire for Marius.

"I thought you were in love with Marius," Prouvaire said one night as he and Éponine stood guard outside a shop.

She blushed "Oh, I am. I was. I just… I want to make sure you're all right. You're not exactly the criminal type, and I don't want anythin' bad to 'appen to you."

Now he blushed. "I'm a criminal anyhow. But thank you. I'm scared to death of those guys."

"You're my only real friend. Mother and Azelma –" Éponine threw her hands in the air.

Prouvaire sighed. His feet hurt. "I miss my parents. And my friends. And being an ordinary student."

"You were never ordinary." He could hardly hear her voice. She gently kissed him on the cheek, and he kissed her back.

But then came the fateful day when Montparnasse returned.

Prouvaire and Éponine, sitting on barrels outside a tavern and absentmindedly braiding each other's hair, froze when a long shadow fell across them. They looked up to see Montparnasse standing over them, grimmer and paler, but still himself. "Where are the others?" he asked Éponine (without so much as a "hello" – in the hospital he spent most of his time with his face in a bucket out of fear the police would discover him there, and the experience had definitely sobered him up a bit).

Éponine gestured to the tavern door. "Inside."

Montparnasse stalked in.

The boy and the girl sat in silence on their barrels. Then Éponine said, "So, 'Parnasse is back at last. I wonder what 'e'll think of you."

Prouvaire squeaked.

He looked over at her and started to see her blushing. She caught his eye and blushed harder.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"You like him, don't you?" Why did he sound so accusing?

"No! I mean, I don't like him like him. We just… hung out together."

"Well, he doesn't seem to like you anymore."

She said nothing.

* * *

The next day Prouvaire managed to slip off and work a little for a restaurant owner. In return the man gave him dinner, and he thoroughly enjoyed the reward of his honest labor, washing dishes instead of standing guard. He sat alone in the corner, when a distressingly familiar figure walked in and sat down across from him.

"I hear you've been in the gang for a month now," said Montparnasse in an ominous voice.

"Hello to you too," said Prouvaire with his mouth full.

"All of Paris knows your name now."

Prouvaire blushed.

"I'm not quite as feared as I used to be," Montparnasse went on. "And Éponine doesn't hang out with me anymore."

Prouvaire choked. "So that's what it is. You're jealous."

"Yes, I am." Montparnasse idly played with Prouvaire's glass of cheap wine, then clenched the edge of the table. "The others all consider me practically kicked out. What do you do, except sit on barrels and run letters."

Prouvaire almost felt sorry for Montparnasse. "I didn't mean to." And he didn't.

"But you don't mind, do you? Especially with 'Ponine." Montparnasse stood up. "You don't want me, you won't have me. Tell them I've gone." He drained Prouvaire's glass and left.

Prouvaire scowled into his empty glass. "I worked for that wine. But I don't want him. I don't want any of them. Except…" He sighed. He missed his flower garden. He missed his carefree life. "Heck, I even miss those crazy friends of mine. But if I'm a criminal now…"

He smiled. He knew what he would do.

* * *

Enjolras buried his face in his arms. "I can't believe Prouvaire is part of the Patron-Minette."

Courfeyrac picked his teeth. "Yes, you've been saying that all month."

"Poor Prouvaire." Joly slumped over a table. "Must be such an unhealthy life."

All of a sudden the door opened. Half the students yelped. Marius jumped to his feet. "You again!"

Montparnasse stared at him. "You again!"

"Love-thief!" Marius shrieked and launched himself at his enemy.

"I told you we were just friends!" Montparnasse yelled as he ran around the room, trying to avoid Marius's wrath.

Feuilly threw his arms around Marius. "Calm down! Let's hear what he has to say."

"I am not listening to anything he has to say!"

"Then don't," Montparnasse said, "but the rest of you listen. I'm leaving the Patron-Minette. I want to join the Friends of the ABC."

Grantaire alone didn't seem shocked. "Why? Prouvaire braided your hair one too many times?"

"No, you idiot. He stole Éponine from me."

"HA!" Marius bared his teeth in a fiendish smile. "The heartbreaker gets heartbroken!"

Montparnasse made a fist at him. "How about I break your heart? And your nose, and your neck, and your –"

"Are you serious about this?" asked Enjolras, who had long since overcome any fear of dangerous men.

"Why would I come if I wasn't serious? Not to take you hostage, that's for sure." Montparnasse grimaced and rubbed his foot against the leg Cosette shot.

Combeferre picked up an extra red sash. "Should we?"

"Sure," Marius snorted. "Let him in. That way I get to pound him whenever I like."

Bahorel grinned. "If he steps out of line can I plaster him to the wall?"

Joly whimpered.

Ignoring them both, Enjolras took the sash and faced Montparnasse. He alone of all the revolutionaries matched the ex-criminal in height.

"Welcome to insanity," he said.

* * *

Prouvaire stood in the street, looking up nervously and clenching his fists. "Do you need any help?" he whispered.

"No." Éponine climbed out of the second-story tenement window and down a tangle of tough old ivy to the ground. Prouvaire examined her arms for injuries. She rolled her eyes. "Jehan, I'm fine."

"Just wanted to make sure." He swung a knapsack over his shoulder and took her hand. They walked down the deserted street, the midnight hour upon them. "Now let's go find a priest."


	7. In Which Eponine Takes Up Gardening

**Epilogue: In Which Éponine Takes Up Gardening**

"I think accepting Montparnasse into our ranks was a wonderful idea," Courfeyrac said at a meeting a few months later. "Everyone's so afraid of getting on his bad side that they're behaving better than they ever have. Joly hasn't made a single complaint of ill health, Marius isn't constantly yakking about Ursule – er, Cosette – anymore, and even Bahorel's less crazy than usual."

"Too bad he hasn't gotten you to keep your big mouth shut," said Feuilly.

"Or gotten Grantaire off the bottle, either," Laigle.

Grantaire hiccupped and glared at them. "I'b gone thwee daysh widout a drink. Wadda ya wan me ta do, die uh shirsht?"

"Shut up," Montparnasse said mildly. He brushed his glossy dark hair away from his eyes with one long slender hand (which triggered pangs of jealousy that gnawed at Courfeyrac's insides), and went back to discussing slums with Enjolras.

Combeferre, sitting nearby reading a newspaper, sat up straight. "Look at this." He placed the newspaper in front of Enjolras. "I knew Prouvaire couldn't really turned criminal. He put a whole confession and apology in the paper."

Enjolras picked it up and scanned it. "He's also asking his parents not to worry about him. He's escaped from the Patron-Minette, but it doesn't say anything about where he is now."

"Oh well," Combeferre said. "I just hope he's happy."

* * *

Early dawn lingered on the horizon. Éponine, wearing a homespun dress, her hair braided with flowers, crouched in the garden, digging with a trowel. From inside the rough little house came a terrific crash.

"You forgot to open the door again, Jehan," said Éponine without looking up.

The door opened, and Prouvaire, his hair falling out of its braids, emerged, blushing. "Sorry I didn't join you earlier. I had to write down a few verses."

"Of course." Éponine took a deep draught of the early air. It smelled so much more alive than the crowded city. "The lilies-of-the-valley are doing well."

Prouvaire, lost in thought, started at her voice, but relaxed. He stood there barefoot, holes in the knees of his pants, alone for miles around, except for dear 'Ponine. A happy blush spread over his face. "The morning glories are also growing well."

Éponine straightened a flower in his hair. "But don't forget the vegetable patch, Jehan. We can't eat flowers."

He laughed. "I won't."

"I'm still just happy I'm not a Thénardier anymore." Éponine took a few leaps around the garden. "I could dance all day."

"Careful! Think of the baby!"

Éponine laughed. "The baby's fine. I'm more worried about the father." She placed a hoe in his hand. "It's time to get to work." They kissed on the lips and turned to the plants.

Monsieur and Madame Prouvaire worked in their little garden on the quiet hillside, while far away the sun rose over Paris.


End file.
